The Thirteenth House

by Sharon Shinn

  The horse shied before the man reacted, and then he flung up his sword arm as if to stab the hawk from the sky. She loosed a shrill, furious cry and dove for him, a short quick plunge, catching one eye with the point of a talon. He shrieked and dropped his sword, clutching at his face, snatching at empty air as if to catch and strangle her. She dove again, raked her claws across his scalp, coming away with hair and skin and blood. Now his screams were truly unnerving, and he had both hands up to his head as he writhed in the saddle. His horse whickered and backed up, dancing away from the battle scene below and acting as if it wanted to throw the rider from the saddle.

  Kirra didn’t figure this assailant would be much of a factor in the remainder of the brawl.

  She beat her wings to attain some altitude and circled once over the gully where the main skirmish was going on. The men of her party had the clear advantage, all of them still mounted and in fighting mode, while one opponent lay lifeless on the ground. Three men to four, even if one of those men was Cammon. Kirra cawed out a guttural greeting and Donnal looked up quickly to spot her overhead. He pulled his horse around and followed where she led, straight to the covert where the final bandit lay, awaiting any who tried to flee. The man was ragged and almost as thin as his blade, but he willingly crossed swords with Donnal for a brief, spirited encounter.

  Red and silver hell, the man looked like he hadn’t eaten for a week; the whole lot was probably just as shabby. Kirra felt a sudden reluctance to mete out the ultimate punishment, and by the careful feint of Donnal’s weapon, she could tell he felt the same. She waited for an opening, then swooped down in a swift, threatening dive to claw for the outlaw’s face and shoulders. Like his compatriot, he flung his hands up to protect his head and cried out in deep disquiet. Donnal lunged for him again, pricking the man’s rib cage and opening up a red gash. Donnal pulled back; Kirra dove down and raked her claws across the man’s forearm.

  It was enough. The man jerked his horse around and pounded off, abandoning the fight itself and any assistance he might render his friends. Donnal stood up in his saddle to watch him go, then settled back and glanced up at Kirra. Sunset was painting a vivid scarlet across the western horizon, and his dark face looked ruddy and smiling.

  “That’s taken care of the whole crew, I think,” he said. He crooked his arm as if to offer her a perch, but she wanted to be sure there were no more enemies lurking just outside Cammon’s circle of perception. She drove her wings down hard, then skated along the higher air currents, making a wide, slow loop around the gully where they’d been attacked. Nothing to be seen, so she widened her search, perhaps a mile in each direction from the central point. Twice her circuit intersected with the path of Donnal’s last opponent, still racing away as fast as his horse would take him. She followed him for a while, curious to see if he would hook up with others, but he seemed most interested in fleeing far enough to save his own life.

  She didn’t spot any other signs of an outlaw camp in her spiral around the countryside.

  Full dark had fallen by the time she circled back to the gully. There was a body lying facedown in the dirt; not one of her men. Her own party was gone, no doubt deciding to put a certain amount of ground between them and the site of the ambush. Romar might have protested at moving on before Kirra returned, but all three of the others would have convincingly insisted that she could find them anywhere they traveled.

  In fact, it was only a few more minutes before she caught up with them in a small camp on open land where a watcher could see in all directions. They’d built a fire, so Justin must have decided their risks were equal at this point: Either every outlaw in the area had already spotted them, or they’d already vanquished the only band likely to attack. And anyway, he’d no doubt already assigned watches for the night. It was cool enough now to make the thought of a fire welcome.

  Kirra drifted down in a lazy loop, wishing she’d thought to catch a rabbit or a squirrel for the night’s dinner. It was strange, for a moment, to see four male shapes grouped against the firelight, instead of the three she had traveled with thus far. Donnal had chosen to remain human, which she thought was a hopeful sign. She wondered if he’d exchanged any words with Romar—and guessed that Romar would certainly have made a point of thanking him directly for the help he’d provided during this enterprise.

  She was a little sorry she’d missed the conversation. A little glad.

  Hard to say who spotted her first, Cammon or Donnal, but Cammon was the one who said, “There’s Kirra,” while she was still aloft. Romar spun around, peering through the darkness behind him. Justin dropped to his knees beside the fire, not much interested. Donnal stood unmoving, hands laced behind his back.

  Cammon was laughing. “Not on the ground. Up there. Put your arm out. You’ll see.”

  Romar, clearly confused, held his hand over his head as if signaling to a friend across a room. Cammon extended his own before him, bent and braced, to demonstrate. “She’s a spring hawk,” Cammon explained.

  Uncertainly, Romar angled his elbow and clenched his fist. Kirra promptly landed on his forearm. She caught his slight hiss as her talons closed over his sleeve, and then he slowly drew his wrist closer to his face. Somberly, his expression disbelieving, he studied her by the flickering firelight.

  “Are you sure it’s Kirra?” he asked. “She looks—completely wild.”

  A muffled “Ha!” from the direction of the fire. “Then it’s Kirra,” came Justin’s voice. “Because she’s certainly wild.”

  “No, she’s not,” Cammon said. “She’s just not entirely civilized.”

  That made Justin laugh out loud. Romar was still studying the bird. Kirra rustled her feathers and redistributed her weight. “How can you be sure it’s her?” he asked. “Just because she can change shapes—how do you know this is the shape she’s taken?”

  “Well, how often have wild birds just come up and settled on your shoulder?” Justin said with a certain sarcasm. “It’s her.”

  “Yes, but—”

  Cammon shrugged. “I don’t know how anyone else can be sure. But I can tell. She looks like Kirra to me.”

  Kirra cocked her head to one side and tried to lay a melting expression over the hawk’s deadly features. Not much good. She winked her eyes a couple of times, but had a feeling the signal didn’t come across as sultry in her current disguise.

  Romar smiled. “You’d almost think she was flirting with me.”

  There was elaborate silence from Justin. Cammon said, “She likes to be stroked under her chin.”

  Romar’s left hand came up, slowly, as if he didn’t want to frighten her, and he ran his index finger slowly along her throat. Bright Lady, that felt better than it had a right to. Kirra stretched her head a little, to give him more acreage. He repeated the motion.

  “Well, I don’t think a wild bird would stand contact like this for very long,” Romar said. “Maybe it is Kirra, as you say.”

  Justin stood, dusting dirt off his knees, and sauntered over. “Strange, isn’t it, though,” he remarked, “that we haven’t seen Donnal and Kirra both together in human shape since we started out on this trek?”

  Romar’s arm straightened out before him, as if to put some distance between himself and the creature on his arm. “You mean—you think this might be Donnal?”

  “Donnal’s right over there,” Cammon said.

  Justin sounded like he was enjoying himself. “Is he?”

  The fourth man stepped over to join the others—but revealed himself to be not a man at all. He was Kirra, all splashing golden hair and perfect, haughty features. “I wondered how long it would take you,” he said in Kirra’s voice.

  Now Romar held his hand as far away from his body as it would go. “But you—how did you—I saw the wolf change into Donnal, but I didn’t see Donnal change into a hawk—”

  “They’re teasing you,” Cammon said patiently. He pointed. “That’s Donnal. That’s Kirra.”

  Romar looked almos
t fearfully between the woman’s beautiful face and the hawk’s fierce one. “But how can you ever be certain?” he asked.

  “Well, that’s the thing about shiftlings,” Justin said blithely. “You really can’t be. They’d just as soon trick you as talk to you.”

  “Watch your mouth, gutter boy,” Donnal said in Kirra’s voice.

  Justin was having the best time. He put his hands in his back pockets and grinned. “Well, you can’t tell by that,” he said. “Donnal doesn’t like me any more than Kirra does.” That was so true that Kirra spared a moment to wonder why Donnal was playing along with Justin’s charade. Her only conclusion was a gloomy one: He was relishing a chance to discompose Romar, to put him at a disadvantage. To make him look foolish while she was watching.

  Justin was still talking. “But why don’t you investigate? See who’s wearing a housemark? That’ll tell you which creature is who.”

  Donnal immediately pulled down the high neckline of his traveling gown to reveal a small brand burned into the flesh. A tiny D, red in the raised skin, acquired when Kirra was too young to remember the pain. All high-ranking heirs bore such marks, customized for their Houses.

  “You have to admire the detail,” Cammon admitted. “But it’s still Donnal. And, no, don’t bother looking at the bird. She won’t have a housemark in this shape. She changes everything about herself, physically, when she becomes something else. There are no clues left behind.”

  “I’m completely confused,” Romar admitted. “I no longer know whom to believe.”

  Kirra tightened her clutch on Romar’s arm merely to aid her balance and set all her veins and muscles into motion. After one quick spasm, Romar held firm, his eyes wide with wonder as he watched her undergo transformation. In a moment or two, she was herself again, feet on the ground, both hands clinging to Romar, holding on till she had regained her sense of body and her sense of balance.

  “In situations like this,” she said, “it’s always best to trust Cammon. Justin rarely lies, and never when it matters, but he’s so good at it that you really can’t tell when he’s doing it. But not only does Cammon always tell the truth, he really can tell when someone else is lying, and he’s never confused by magic.”

  Romar was staring at her, fascinated. He didn’t seem to mind that she was still grasping his arm. “And Donnal?” he asked. “Is he better at truth or lies?”

  She glanced at Donnal—who was no longer Donnal, but a wolf again. It had been too much to hope that he would sit around the fire with them tonight like a civilized man. “He never lies to me,” she said. “But I think he can be flexible with the truth when he’s talking to others.”

  “Well, I’m not lying when I say I’m hungry,” Justin said, still in that disgustingly cheerful voice. “Let’s get something to eat.”

  The meal was a couple of unwary rabbits and yesterday’s water, spiced with talk about the ambush. “I saw one body left behind at the campsite,” Kirra said. “Did the others flee?”

  Justin nodded, swallowing a mouthful of meat. “Didn’t even mean to kill the one, but he came at me and wouldn’t stop, so I—” He shrugged. “But they were a sorry bunch. I wish they had all just run.”

  “Hard to know how they ended up outcasts,” Romar said in a quiet voice. “Did they commit a crime? Or were they just poor and unlucky, too many bad crops in a row, not enough skills to get a job in one of the small towns? I can’t condone outlawry, of course, but I wonder sometimes if we should go after the causes of it, and not the outlaws themselves.”

  Justin raised his eyebrows at that. He’d been something of a brigand himself in the days before Tayse found him, and he had some sympathy with a lawless way of life. “Go after it how?” he asked.

  “Offer some kind of monetary aid in the bad years—lower taxes, maybe, or loans that can be paid back over ten years. Make work available in the towns where they’ve lost some industry, where the mines have gone bad or the trade routes don’t go through anymore.” Romar took a sip from his water container, then added, “In Merrenstow, we’ve been trying to recruit some of the men like this. We’re building up the civil guard, and we need more bodies. But a lot of them don’t trust the offer of amnesty. They think it’s a ploy to get them to turn themselves in. So not many have joined.”

  “Say it’s the king’s summons,” Justin suggested. “I think even the most desperate men would believe the king’s word, even when they don’t trust the marlords. Get Baryn to write a proclamation. They’ll sign up then.”

  “That’s a good idea,” Romar said. “And it’s even true. If we go to war, we’ll be warring for Baryn.”

  “At least, Merrenstow will be,” Kirra said. “Let’s not let them use such proclamations in Fortunalt and Gisseltess.”

  “Or Tilt,” Justin said darkly.

  Kirra shook her head. “We can’t be sure Gregory Tilton was involved in our own little escapade. I admit, I don’t trust him myself, but we have no proof.”

  Romar closed his eyes for a moment and rubbed his hand across his forehead. “Lady’s tears,” he said in a weary voice, “I hope it doesn’t come to war. I have no idea who would fight with us and who against. I’m far from certain we would have the numbers to win.”

  “Well, you’ll have the Riders and the mystics on your side,” Justin said. “That will make you harder to defeat.”

  Kirra could not help glancing at him across the fire. It was the first time she could remember Justin ever naming the mystics as potential and welcome allies. But perhaps he only had Senneth in mind when he spoke that way. He had managed to overcome his dislike of magic when it came to Senneth.

  “I don’t think fifty Riders and—what?—a couple hundred mystics will be able to turn aside armies raised from more than half the Houses,” Romar said. “But at least it’s good to know we’ll go down only after a hard-fought battle.”

  “Maybe there won’t be a war,” Kirra said softly. “That’s what we’ll work toward, at any rate. Peace in the realm.”

  CHAPTER 6

  THEY had traveled about three hours the following day when Cammon called for a halt. “Men ahead of us—a lot of them,” he said.

  Justin pulled them all together for a conference. “Men cutting cross-country like we are?” he demanded.

  Cammon shrugged. “I can’t tell. They’re—this way. Traveling—that way.” He pointed. He was hopeless at compass directions.

  Justin was never lost. “They’re northeast of us heading straight west,” he translated. “Probably on the main road. A large party.”

  “Merrenstow men looking for me,” Romar said.

  Justin nodded. “Probably. But I’d hate to be wrong.” He glanced around. “Donnal.” The wolf was already on his feet and poised for travel, one paw lifted from the ground, eyes trained on the Rider. Justin told him, “We’ll just wait right here for you to come back.”

  The rest of them slipped from the saddle and ate some dried rations. Too early for lunch, but riding always made everyone hungry. Justin and Romar cleared debris from the scrubby grass and laid out maps with rocks and pebbles. Kirra and Cammon made little pallets on the ground and sat there, bored. Well, Kirra was bored. Cammon continually looked around him with interest, as if listening to the conversation of the wind or the thoughts of the passing jays. Kirra had never seen anyone else who could always be counted on to be delighted. At times—like now—she found it the most maddening trait of Cammon’s entire personality.

  Donnal was back within the hour, too stubborn to change out of wolf shape, which made for an interesting exchange of information. “Men in Merrenstow colors?” Justin asked. Donnal bobbed his head, his mouth wide in a silent pant. “How many? Twenty?” Donnal made no sign. “Fifty?” Donnal nodded again. “About fifty Merrenstow men,” Justin repeated to Romar, who looked just about as annoyed as Kirra felt about that ridiculous pantomime. “Still doesn’t guarantee that they’re looking for you, but—”

  Romar shouldered up next to Justin.
“Did you notice the man in charge? Was he big-boned and black-haired, riding a gray stallion?” Another sharp nod for that. “Colton, most likely,” Romar said. “My captain.”

  Justin nodded. “It’s probably safe to intercept them. Let’s go.”

  They all swung back into their saddles and changed course. Even so, Kirra could tell Justin was just a little nervous about it, not wanting to be wrong, wanting Romar to hang back long enough for the rest of them to create a desperate diversion if this platoon turned out to be hostile. But, as Romar so reasonably pointed out, “I’m the only one who will recognize my men. I can’t ride in the back.” Nonetheless, Donnal stalked in the lead and Justin and Kirra rode on either side of Romar as if to defend him with their own particular skills.